A Confession
by Green Bird
Summary: Shounen ai. WxV... Vash confesses to Wolfwood, all of his sins. The foolish, the deep, and the dangerous... Blissfully feelgood. Merely suggestive. My Trigun OneShot.


Title: A Confession

Show: Trigun

Pairing: Wolfwood/Vash

Author: **_Green Bird_**

Disclaimer: Not mine. Some person in Japan.

Rating: PG-13

**Note:** This is the point in time where I just roast in hell.

**Summary:** A W+V fic. No action though, but hot non-the-less. A concept that came to me and afterward, I had to pray an apology. It was too good to pass up. Vash confesses to Wolfwood, all of his grave sins.

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_Wolfwood's POV_

_.-.-.-._

**A Confession**

**.-.-.-.-.**

This room is shitty. One bed, a dresser with a broken drawer and a table that is missing one leg. There are two chairs, both moldy wood that is gray with age. The light implanted in the ceiling is yellow and garish, casting terrible shadows, making the entire room ugly and my head hurt, so I leave it off and let the dying light of the setting sun permit me to see. A cockroach skitters out from under that damn dresser as the light goes off. Disgusting, but this is what you get for only a fistful of double dollars.

The day was hot, but the evening cooler. Everyone else had settled into their rooms as well and the girls had gone out to mail their report. Vash was drunk somewhere. I was folding my jacket over the back of my chair as there was a loud call of, "Nicholas?", when it became clear that Vash was _now_ drunk outside my door. He never calls me by my full name when sober… so one has to assume these things.

"Yeah?" I holler back, not all too loudly, as I hear him playing with the doorknob. "Just come in then."

As the door swings inward I see one of the most piteous sights on this planet; Vash the Stampede… drunk and in a slump. His hair has flopped over his face a little and small, purplish bags hang beneath his eyes. When I had last seen him, he had been singing on top of a bar. Now, he looks like a drunken dog that was kicked in the ribs.

"Why didn't you stay downstairs?" He hiccups as he wobbles in. He's not terribly drunk, as he can actually focus his tired eyes on me and not the space next to my head. It's unusual to see him in low spirits after so _many_ spirits, but he has been acting off the par lately.

"Their whiskey tastes like piss." And that isn't a lie. Unless that actually was a glass of piss, and in that case, I will need to duck my head out the window.

"I know." Vash rocks on his feet and shoves his hands deep in his pockets; he's wearing normal clothes today. It takes me a minute to notice that it's not in his stupor that he's tottering. He looks to be a little nervous.

For a minute I just watch him and wonder to that flush on his face and if it really is drink induced. When his eyes fall to the floor I know it isn't. "Sit down already, what's wrong with you?" I cough good-naturedly. "What are you so tight about?"

"I want to ask you something." It's muttered and I sigh as he rocks again. Hearing the irritation in it, Vash sits quickly and ducks his head. "Do you still have your Confessional?"

That's what this is about! His drinking has driven him to guilt about something and now he wants to tell me about it. I look to the open baggage of mine and see it there, folded down and stuffed under some shirts. Even though Vash is a drunken innocent with little to nothing to confess… it could use some exercise. And so could I for that matter.

Anyway, who am I to deny someone the want to rid themselves of their sins? God's hands and all that.

"I've got it." I confirm as I wrench it out and begin to unfold it.

Vash looks a little horrified to the fact that I _do_ have it. "Oh. Well… I want to confess. I think. Maybe."

"No harm in that. If anything it will just get some stuff off of your chest." Damn these hinges! This thing never unfolded on whim for me. To prove it doesn't like my abandonment of it, the Confessional pinches my fingers ruthlessly.

"Some harm… in that." He's worrying his lip and I give him a look that he returns sheepishly. "You're under confidence right? You won't say a thing about this?"

"I can't. Church policies." The Confessional is set on the table and I move to shut the door. Instead of soothing him, it looks that being closed in a room with me makes him even more nervous. Drink does some unusual things.

Vash makes a suffocating sound as I pull the other chair next to him. "Can you open a window or something?" He stumbles, examining the wood for the termites that are having a picnic right on the top of it. "It's stuffy in here."

Christ! What is wrong with him? I open the window and let some air in. It is stuffy… and smelly in here. I should have slept outside with a load of blankets instead.

When I turn around again he's eyeing me, face flushed. I'm about to go over and slap him out of it when he speaks again, a little more brave. "You can't laugh at me either."

"Of course not, who laughs at you?" I make the sarcasm drip as I sit across him and then he straightens his spine, attempting to look as if he did not hear that. One of his hands slaps a coin down on the table and I roll my eyes and take it. I'm not that cruel… I'd probably do this for free.

"Alright, you came here to confess, so let's get to it." I plop the little plastic church over his head and slip the coin in. That really doesn't do anything. At one point in time it used to play music and the windows would glow, but sand has worked its way into the house of God and turned off the electricity.

"Now," I sit back in my chair, observing Vash the Stampede with a cathedral head, "confess. What are your sins? What would you like to tell me?"

He takes a deep breath and blurts out his first transgression. "I stole a sandwich… I was hungry."

I raise an eyebrow. "Stealing is a sin. What have you learned from that experience?"

His voice wavers in revulsion. "That a sandwich that has been sitting on a corner stand all day has a reason that is should not be stolen and eaten."

I laugh at that and Vash seems annoyed.

"I'm trying! You promised me!" He barks, voice flustered.

"Alright…" I gasp, "Alright. So that was wrong and you've got your comeuppance. Another, give me another."

He gulps down some air. "I drunk myself under the table last night at Greenwitch and vomited on the innkeeper's rug…" he grows a little more quiet and says with some sadness, "I didn't tell her that it was me… I said it was her dog. She was really mad."

"You bore false witness on a dog." I have to bite back my sarcasm again and take a deep breath. "What did you learn from this sin?"

"I learned that the innkeeper beats her pets."

Ouch. That was a little painful for him… Vash liked that animal. I resist the urge to pat him on the shoulder. "Will you do that again?"

"No. I hurt Scruffs. I shouldn't have ever lied about that."

"Good. That's good. You're forgiven then." I wave it off but realize he cannot see me. "Go on, another one."

He's wringing his hands and I notice that his breathing is a little more labored than it should be. Vash's feet are tapping against the floor in a frantic manner. Why is he this driven to confess over everyday happenings? Drink does some _unusual_ things.

He looks utterly ridiculous with that on his head, and I know he's staring blankly at the particleboard front of that thing in the dark, concentrating hard, so I stifle whatever chuckle I was threatening.

"Anything else?" I prod.

But, that silly and almost stupid tone he was so faithfully confessing the last of his 'sins' in changed with his next hesitant breath. It came so much softer, a whisper to me. "Yes…"

"Tell me."

He's shaking. What-the-_hell_! What is so terribly awful that you…

"I've killed people." There was coolness to the sudden hiss, a thing that made you shutter. "So many people…" But, it became laced with tears and the anger of having them. "And I hate them for it." Vash breaks with a gasp, ducking his head a little and making me jump. I want to catch him, but he will not fall. "I _hate_…"

People died because of him, yet both he and I know he's never done it with his bare hands… but he's killed them nonetheless. He damns them for dying. How dare they die on him! Someone like Vash wants life to be lasting for everyone… he wants peace and prosperity and love. Why do they always cause pain instead?

And suddenly, I realize the severity of this. Those little foolish utterances in the beginning were merely his warm up. This was the real deal. My spine stiffens and I become straight-faced.

My hand goes out to hold his by some alien need to comfort. Maybe it's the priest in me, or maybe… it's the friend. "People die. If it is not by your hand, it isn't your choice whether they live or not." I squeeze his hand. "It's God's choice. You are not God."

"But I can help to keep them alive can't I!"

How are you Knives's brother? How are you Vash the Stampede? You cry over a dead kitten, you loose your mind if someone else is hurt. How can you be this pure and good natured being and how the hell can you be confessing your sins to _me_!

"I've never seen anyone do what you've done. I didn't think there was anyone on this planet that cares as much as you do." His breath is struggling to calm itself down, quivering as he exhales. It's amazing that he's this worked up, but then again, he is drunk.

"Then you don't blame me for it?"

"No. No one can." Why am I saying this? Maybe it's because it's true. You're the pure one; you're the one that I can't understand. "So stop doing it to yourself."

He nods. The Confessional slides forward a little and I reach up to it with my free hand and adjust its position. Very slowly, his breath calms and his other hand disappears under the box to wipe his eyes.

I want to stop… I really do. I don't like that he's in this state, but I'll go through with it all the way. He paid the fee. "Is there anything else?"

It becomes quiet then. Oddly quiet. Either he's thinking or he's fallen asleep on me. "Vash?"

"Yes." He whispers. "But I don't want to tell."

"You were doing well, if you don't want to confess more…"

"I should confess it!" He shouts a little, and then looks alarmed that he did by the jerk in his shoulder.

"Then tell me."

"Yes, I'll tell you…" And in a moment, his voice has changed on me. I can't pin it just yet. "Yes. I've had…" I can hear him inhale and his hand twitches under mine. I have forgotten that I was holding it. "I've had lecherous thoughts. About a friend."

Ah, that's what it is; embarrassment. Why is it that I'm not amused?

He says it slow, as if it's hard to push out. "They are thoughts I can't get rid of, dreams in the day time and in the night. All the time."

Why am I the one with the rattled breathing now?

"Every time I see them, I think about…" He falters, but I finish it…

"Sex?"

"Yeah." His hand jerks out of mine and clasps to his own instead.

I try to think this out. I blame this on Meryl, but I know that that's a lie. He wouldn't be telling me if it were. My throat becomes a little dry, but I refuse to let whatever it is that is playing with my body to affect my voice. I am a professional damn it all. "What happens in these dreams? What do you do?"

He shakes his head, the Confessional rattles and totters, but does not come off. His hands are clenched before him. They are white knuckled.

"Tell me." I can't talk properly. I can't stop the movement of my hand across the table. I can't stop enclosing one fist in it, and running a finger over the curl of his forefinger. I push gently into his palm with one digit.

What the hell is wrong with me? I always used to have control with him. I could always just walk away when I wanted too…

But it's different now. It's terrifying and thrilling and seductive now. I request again, my voice weighted with something further than just my request. "Tell me…"

Vash emits a slight gasp at my touch. He knows I know, but now, he must tell me for a reason other than forgiveness. "I touch them." He tries to gulp. Under my touch, his grip softens. "I touch them a lot… and they kiss me. Sometimes we're in the desert, and sometimes in an inn …In a room together." He breaks off for a second and tries to breathe. I have discovered I can't. Speak more. Keep going, please. "And they smell like liquor and cigarettes and something better and I can't help but _touch_…"

I can't help it either. I knead his hand under mine. I know if I had the power of it, the burn of my gaze on him now would have set the Confessional on fire. Yet, I'm a masochist. I want to hear it. What do you dream about me Vash? How do you dream about me? Do we fuck or do we love? Does one master or do we switch off? How am I? Do I make you scream? Do I make you gasp? Admit to me my own sins... admit to me my own thoughts and tell me I wasn't, I'm not, alone. "Tell me more, Vash."

"We… I…" he suddenly hardens and becomes serious; little shocks go down my spine. "It's not flowery or full of fireworks. It feels real in my dreams. I wake myself up sometimes with my own groans." I see the slightest smile pull at his lips. "In the day time I imagine running my hands down them, groping them right there in the daylight, propriety be damned. And I want so much of them, all the time. I want them so badly, yet I don't know how I can. It's so unlikely, yet so luring. They're always there for me. They're a friend I cannot live without. If this…" the strength fades and again, the voice struggles, "if this sin ruins us, I do not think I can survive."

I stand so fast I frighten myself. At my sudden movement Vash withdraws, slightly panicked. Idiot. If he could see me right now, he would know I am nothing to fear.

I grip the sides of the Confessional and pull it off of him. He looks up at me, my one friend on the border of something else. Even in drink his eyes are brighter then I ever cared to notice, his face is perfect and his look is like something from a dream. Why have I never noticed the softness of his golden hair? …Hair that is all askew and flattering from the press of the box. How come I have never touched that beauty mark under his eye? Never ran my fingertips over his pure face?

He is untainted and holy. I am the sinner here. But, like a leper would, I touch the face of my idol with wonderment of its perfection.

His breaths are coming short. I will make them heavier before the night's end. My left hand signs the cross, my right cups his face. With a slow dip I lean down to him, preparing to drink his lips as if he were my sinful communion. I plan to take the entire cup. Without sin, there is no need for confession…. I plan to fill my quota.

To his awaiting mouth I mutter my acceptance and his freedom;

"You are forgiven."

**FIN**

_Green Bird_

_2005_

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_Oh my... is it true? Has the Bird returned from her slumber of original fiction and fluttered her wings in the fanfiction world? Only a twitch my loves. I have not returned to you, merely paid visit._

_I would be three times thrilled if you reviewed, darling._

_Your Obedient Servant - **Green Bird**_


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